Page 56 of Bound

I’ve spent the last few days working in the fields that feedour village. I’ve been perfecting the irrigation system with the gnomes. Atnight, I entertain the Fae who come from all over the plane to welcome the newqueen. Large tents have been set up around the village as though a great fairhas come to town. I’m happy with the coin that is now flowing around thevillage as visitors spend money and trade goods with the locals. It’s been along time since my people had anything resembling prosperity.

My wife seems to think she has something to trade, too—thisodd-looking thing she’s prepared to force on me. She looks so cute with anapron over her day clothes and flour in her hair. She looks good enough to eat,and the now familiar ache starts in my groin.

I’m going to die if she doesn’t say yes soon.

“It’s a cookie,” my wife proclaims as though the word shouldmean something.

I’m rapidly discovering that even with the bond, my mindstill wanders. It’s my wife’s fault. She has a smile that tends to melt myinsides. I force myself to concentrate on her words and not how creamy her skinlooks.

“I had to figure out how to substitute honey for sugar, butI think I have it,” Meg continues. “It’s an oatmeal cookie. It’s better withchocolate chips, but we don’t have any. Try one.”

That isn’t what I want to try. I want to get my mouth on herbreasts and that sweet, soft pussy of hers, but I’m playing a long game. Still,I can’t disappoint her. I take the “cookie” and pray it tastes better than theother meals she’s attempted to cook. My bride is beautiful and possesses asharp mind, but cooking is not a talent of hers. I’ve had to choke down dinnerall week and smile and tell her how edible it is. Flanna is attempting to teachher a few tricks to Fae cooking. So far, it’s not working.

Her hand is on her hip, and there’s an offended look on herpretty face. “It’s not going to kill you, Ci.”

I’m pretty sure it won’t. I quickly calculate my odds ofsurviving Meg’s cookie experiment. I’m confident, when applying the laws ofrational deduction, that my odds are in the 99.783% range. Her foot tapsimpatiently on the floor. I have a 100% chance of pissing off my wife if Idon’t eat the damn thing and manage to smile. I shove the cookie in my mouthand gamely chew.

It’s not half bad. “It’s good.”

A wry smile quirks up her lips. “You don’t have to sound sosurprised. I never was a very good cook, but I always could bake. I didn’t getthese hips from following a low carb diet.”

I would ask her what she means, but I’m eating a secondcookie. It’s not good. It’s delicious. I’ve never really liked oats. They tastelike paper, but Meggie’s cookie is soft and sweet. I reach for a third.

She pulls the platter back. “Hey, I need those for thegoblins. Flanna says they’ve set up camp on the other side of the village inthe caves.”

Oh, I know all about the goblins. It was not a surprise whenthey showed up. In a way, it’s a good thing. They bring trade. The goblins liveon the plane and choose to do business with the village, but they’re not hereto pay court to the kings and their queen. They are Unseelie. They arepotentially very dangerous. “You aren’t meeting the goblins, my lover.”

“Why not? I’ve met everyone else,” Meg points out with abreezy lack of concern.

It’s a huge change from the worried girl I met a few daysago. Meg has settled in nicely. She’s growing in confidence and proving herselfa good partner. She’s polite when she needs to be, and she has good instinctsas to when a small show of temper is required. Patience and gentleness workswith the brownies and gnomes, but I was proud when Meg slapped one of the cavedwarves silly. The dwarf was downright rude about humans being a bit lacking inthe brain department. She smacked his hard little head. Sorry, shesaid with an innocent smile. I’m not smart enough to control my impulses.

The dwarves have all watched their tongues since. It’s nowbeing said that the queen can be viciously brutal when she wants to be. It’s acompliment coming from the dwarves.

I watch the cookies go into a basket. It’s a whole lot ofcookies. The goblins might not even like them. My wife certainly won’t bewandering into a goblin cave with her pretty smile and basket of treats. Thegoblins will just as likely eat her. “The goblins aren’t here to meet you. Theycome because of all the trade that goes on at gatherings like this.”

Meg looks thoughtful for a moment. “What would goblinstrade?”

I love her questions. She’s the most curious woman I’ve evermet. “All manner of things. They tend to scavenge, so you can bet they haveitems from other planes. If we had anything to trade, I’m sure we could findsomething to intrigue you. The only thing they make themselves is a strangeform of liquor. It’s a brown drink they brew from beans they find in themountains. It gets goblins drunk, but it just makes me jittery.”

“Because, of course, you have to try goblin moonshine,” Megsays with an affectionate laugh.

I shrug. “If someone tells me it’s liquor, I’ll try it. Ididn’t like this stuff, though. It smelled lovely but tasted bitter.”

Her hazel eyes flare and she’s very serious all of thesudden. “Beans from the mountains? Makes you jittery? Would you say it’s anacquired taste?”

“I don’t know who would want to acquire it.” I shake my headas I think about that drink. It’s very bitter and acidic, and the goblins serveit at a scalding temperature. “It makes you jittery if you drink too much, andthen it’s like you’re addicted. If you don’t get it, you have a headache.”

“Like the one I’ve had for a freaking week and a half,” Megsnarls. She takes me by the shirt, fisting the fabric in her hands to draw meclose. “You will take me to the coffee.”

I feel my eyes widen, and for a moment I wonder if thedwarves haven’t hit it on the head. My queen does, indeed, look a bit vicious.“They don’t call it coffee.”

“I don’t care what they call it,” Meg swears. “I want it.I’m a pot-a-day coffee drinker who’s been without it for weeks now. You willget me that coffee. Do you understand?”

“It’s become my new quest, wife.” I never argue with a womanwhen she gets that look in her eyes.

Meg backs off and smiles. “Excellent. We can trade thecookies for the coffee.”

She places a cloth over the full basket and smooths down hernew skirts. Some of the women of the village held a small sewing party to makethe queen a functional wardrobe. Meg was effusive in her praise of the threedresses, two pairs of pants, two shirts, and some nice undergarments. She madethe women promise to teach her what they know. Her gracious acceptance of theirrather plain garments endeared her to the women of the village. It’s the kindof thing that Beck would have turned down, fearing he was taking advantage ofhis subjects.